Time passes in leaps and bounds in the Astral Plane, and Merle settles into a routine. Wake up, go to the beach, find John, get called back to the cabin for lunch, look over the library, tea with Lucretia. His days fly by, and he doesn't seem to notice it. It's as if the longer he goes on, the less he thinks of the people he left behind. He grows complacent here, in forever, on the back end of it. And it's absolutely fine . Merle finds out things he never would have guessed. John likes tea, drinks it with sugar and lemon. It's funny, the things he remembers. Lucretia takes it with lemon, Magnus likes milk in his and enough sugar to kill twenty horses, Julia likes hers with milk and a shot of bourbon. A girl after his own heart. And John? He never woulda thought of John as a tea person. A coffee type? Absolutely. Davenport preferred coffee too, but he wouldn't turn down a good cup of tea if Merle was making it. But of course, this wasn't Merle's tea.

The smallest things still do make him think of his family, but even then his thoughts barely if ever dwell on them, not the way they used to. He smiles, thinking about it, and on accident makes a second cup of tea the way Davenport likes it - out of sheer habit. Merle downs the second cup, hands shaking. He can see the way Lucretia looks at him when he does, concern making its way across her features. Merle doesn't know if his face betrayed any raw emotions, but if it did, he doesn't care. He's just worried about John. John who had been waiting for him for years. A century and a half even. That has nearly nothing to do with Davenport, but the thought sticks with him.

Lucretia covers Merle's shaking hand with her own, and he glances at her. She knows, she'd been closer to Davenport than anyone else besides him. "Do you need a minute, Merle?" She asks, tenderly, and his heart rends for her.

The dwarf doesn't answer, but it's written clear as day across his face. Merle stacks the cups and moves them out of the way, and Lucretia's lips purse, watching him. It hits him like a sack of concrete, a million pounds of it.

"You're allowed to mourn, Merle." Lucretia says, her hand on his. She squeezes, once, tenderly, before pulling her hand off his. "It's hard, leaving everyone behind. I…" She closes her eyes, and winces, and turns her head away at the thought. "I thought I'd be happy because Magnus is happy, and you know better than anyone else here how hard he wanted to see Julia again."

"Yeah," Merle shakes his head, something like a weary chuckle leaking out. "You know, my kids-" He stops, and the look on Lucretia's face is enough to get him to stay silent. She aches too, maybe not the way he does, and hell, she's lost more than him, she's got every right to it. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be dwelling on them, should I?" Merle slips into an apologetic smile, and reaches out to pat her hand where it lies beside her teacup.

"When I say you're allowed to mourn," Lucretia says, counting over her words carefully. "I mean it from a place of empathy." Her brow knits, and she rolls her lips through her teeth. "My family, Magnus' family. They all have lives of their own. I couldn't just, sit here, waiting for them, could I?" She says it again, softer: "Could I?" When he doesn't answer, she continues, firmly. "What I mean is, Merle, that there are things you can worry about and things that, in all honesty, you must let go of to be happy, to get that rest you deserve. Do you understand that?"

She's talking about his kids, and in an instant he remembers Davenport is still out there. It felt like he was just gone the way he'd leave on his boat, but Davenport would always be back. He's not coming back , Merle realizes, and for a second all the air leaves his lungs. Lucretia looks at him, and there's sympathy there in her gaze. "All things have their time, Merle. Do you remember you were the one who taught me that?" Her slender hands take his small ones.

He does remember. The Ice Plane. It was the two of them, and it was just after Magnus died. How did they survive like that? She wanted to know, How could the two of them live and everyone else just die like that. Merle remembers like it was yesterday. And it could have been, going by how Lucretia looks now, her hair curly and short, boyish , she called it when they first met, and she laughed, and Pan, his heart aches. She was so young then, and they shouldn't have been the ones out there all alone. They were just kids, Merle thinks, and realizes he's getting off track.

"Yeah, I got ya." Merle grumbles, and Lucretia's expression brightens a little, but it's still so soft. He reaches up and touches her cheek. "Still can't believe you look like this."

That flusters her, and for a second she looks stricken, before she covers his hand with her own.

"Thank you, Merle. I hope you take what I said to heart."

"I'll think on it." Merle says, and hops off the stool. He follows the hall, up the stairs, which he doesn't think were small enough to give him ease of travel before, but he guesses it changes. He doesn't know, it's the Astral Plane, maybe they're psychic ghost stairs. It's quiet. Out in front, Julia and Magnus are playing with the horde of dogs, and it's almost as if the crowd of them has multiplied, because there are definitely more out there than there were last time he checked.

He climbs the stairs, and up there the library is silent. A filmy yellow light filters in through the windows, through the gauzy blinds he thinks Lucretia must have needlepointed flowers into. The curtains are patterned beautifully with silk forget me nots. Blue and white, of course. Those were always her favorites. He remembers the Ice Plane, how he had a small pot of them on the Starblaster, coaxed into life from a few freeze dried seeds. A weak smile crosses his lips at the memory, and Merle tugs at his beard, fingers combing through it. A small part of him won't admit it, but he's looking for John, and it's as if John had left the cabin early, departing to some part of the island away from the eyes of its' other occupants. Down the stairs, he goes, and he can spot Lucretia stoking the fire. She has a new mug of tea in her hands, and it smells floral. That's herbal tea, he knows it. Maybe their talk had her feeling sentimental.

She spots him coming down the stairs, and her eyes train on him like a hawk. "If you're looking for John, he's down by the docks." As he usually seemed to be. Merle isn't sure what he's been doing out there, a short distance from the cabin.

Merle gathers a woolen coat from the rack closest by the door; it smells old, but it's soft and it fits him perfectly. The coat rack is a beautiful shade of mahogany, and it sure as hell wasn't there the last time he checked either. He chalks it up to more Astral Plane ghost bullshit, but in a way he's glad, because that means it's becoming more like home to him.

He finds John at the docks, and from what he can tell, the human doesn't realize Merle's creeping up behind him until the dock creaks underfoot. That gets him to pause what he's doing, and whirl to face him. "Merle, I- I, I thought you were staying inside," He says, and that strikes Merle as suspicious as all hell. He's hiding his hands behind his back, and that pricks Merle's interest as well. "I do, well, have something for you. Close your eyes." Merle pulls a face, but closes his eyes, and John's hands slip around his head, and he inhales the scent of John's clothes, soap, dirt, flowers. Flowers? He doesn't get a chance to think about it because they're walking, and John is guiding him toward an unknown destination.

John's hands are rougher than he anticipated, when they cover his eyes. "Alright, easy, now. I got little legs, you gotta go a little slower." Merle reminds him, and his stride eases up a little. Merle's hands go over John's, and he's surprised that John's hands are still just as freezing as before. How long had he been out here? He wasn't kidding when he said he preferred outside. He pauses, taking in the smell of John's hands, and it stands out to him only because they smell like dirt, like good earthy soil. It gives his heart a twist, and Merle squeezes John's hands, and a second later they're stopping. The ground underfoot doesn't crunch, and that is enough to perk up Merle's ears. John's fingers slip from his cheeks, and it takes a second to adjust to the dim, the wind rushing through his hair, his beard, and on it a floral scent, mixing with the ozone burnt gunpowder smell of souls. Merle's eyes widen when he takes it in. Laid out in front of him is a twelve by ten foot area fenced in with saplings woven into a latched gate. It's low enough for him to get into easily. This was thoughtfully made, and Merle can't believe what he's looking at..

"John, what-? What the-" Merle begins and can't get the rest of the words out. He steps, gingerly forward, hands curling around the gate. The saplings, he notes, are also alive and growing. The fence is made of healthy trees, and there's vines woven through the saplings, keeping them together. He's breathless, swinging the gate open. Underfoot is soft loam, the kind of thing you'd find on Faerun, and a loose smile crosses his mouth, and he's puzzled, but his heart is throbbing in his chest, and his stomach is in knots, and he opens his mouth to tell John how much this gift means to him, and all that comes out is a croak.

It's… a garden. A garden. There's the beginnings of a rose bush, trimmed down. He recognizes it as Rosa Rugosa. There's bougainvilleas, his favorite. There's a jasmine shrub, and the scent makes Merle's heart plummet to his feet, and he turns to stare at John. "Did you do this?" He takes a step into the path carved between the rows of flowers, little stepping stones set into the sand. "Where did you find all these?"

John sets his shoulders. "It was Lucretia's idea. Magnus helped. One of the many things they said about you, Merle."

Merle huffs out a laugh, fingertips brushing the creeping jasmine, working the flowers through his fingers, before letting them spring back into place. "I don't know whether I should be scared or flattered."

The way John stands, it's as if he's surprised he managed to keep something alive this long, but there's a quiet pride in his stance, and Merle sidles on up next to him. "You know, I'll get to their thank-yous soon enough, but you didn't have to do this for me. I'd-"

"You were struggling, Merle. I could see it clear as day." John's looking out at the horizon, and the sky glitters with a thousand glimmering souls, and for a moment he could swear he's back on Faerun, standing in his garden, the heady scent of jasmine filling the otherwise stagnant (and still chilly) air. The flowers were out of season, drastically so, but he thinks that doesn't really count for anything in the Astral Plane.

His thoughts drift to John, and how exactly he found these, and he scrubs his hand across his eyes, knocking his glasses out of the way to fight the burning tears that come to his eyes. His arms rest over the fence, and he's looking up at John.

"I'm gonna have to get you back for this, you know."

John doesn't look at him, but he settles beside him, back against one of the sturdier trees that made up the fence. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and it's the most relaxed Merle has ever seen him. "I like to think of it like a gift, Merle. Now this is paradise for you too."

"Funny choice of words," he remarks, but Merle isn't laughing. He tips his head to the side. John's phrasing was odd, but he won't pass any judgement just yet. "Is it paradise for you?"

"The jury's still out on that one." John says, elbows leaned back on the fence, and Merle chuckles. He reaches out and puts his hand on John's arm.

"Thank you. I mean that."